


Dear God

by Xavirne



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, avenged sevenfold - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavirne/pseuds/Xavirne
Summary: I've been wanting to write a one-shot for Jack based off Avenged Sevenfold's "Dear God."  It's all about how he left Mercy and how he's missing her but knows he can't go back to her just yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that is definitely NOT my best work. In fact, I think it's one of my worst yet. I know I could have done better but I'm not entirely sure how. So, I'm posting this. Maybe a few months from now, I'll re-write and make it better. Until then, 'enjoy' a sappy, angsty, emo Jack.
> 
> P.S. I blame my current mood for how this one turned out. I've been in a very dark/depressing/angry mood lately.

" _A lonely road, crossed another cold state line. Miles away from those I love, purpose hard to find. While I recall all the words you spoke to me, can't help but wish that I was there and where I'd love to be._ " He settled into position while lightly reciting the lyrics of a song he became all too familiar with lately.

From on far, he kept his sights locked on her. Each step she took away from him, he followed.

He was the perfect shadow. The perfect stalker. The perfect hunter. His aim was true and his mark was completely oblivious to it all.

Finger curling around the trigger, he drew in his breath.

Arm falling softly against the edge of the flat roof, he exhaled while engaging that trigger.

_Click._

It was another picture for the book. Another reminder of probably the worst decision he'd ever made. It was his guilt and regret that was captured in that photograph he snapped.

Pulling up from his perch, his sad blue eyes fell back on her fading form. Oh what he would give to jump from this roof and fly to her side. What he would give just to tell her he was alive and well. To tell her how much he loved her. How much he missed her. How much he messed everything up. How he needed her. Absolutely needed her.

Clutching his tight chest, he winced. Goodbye was always the hardest part. If only he could drop the facade. Tell her the truth. Everything...

And just like that, she was gone.

He'd tail her later. Maybe next week? Maybe next month? Maybe tomorrow night? It really depended on the intel he gathered.

"Jack," a friendly hand rested on his shoulder. "You really shouldn't be doing this. You have to let he-"

His hardened gaze landed on Ana's worn, elderly face. "Finish it," he dared her. " _And_ you tell me you don't watch Fareeha from time to time."

Her silence answered everything. Still, she kept her eyes set on him. Perhaps a bit softer than before, but she wouldn't yield. She knew this was bad for him. For their mission. The best way to keep Angela safe was to keep Jack miles from her. And yet, here they were, again, in the same city. And there he was, perched on a rooftop, snapping pictures of her. Remembering her. Loving her from on far.

"Yeah, I thought as much." Shaking away her hand, Jack shoved the sniper rifle at Ana. As she grabbed it, he removed the photography equipment he attached to the end of it. It's what allowed him to capture the moment. To capture _her_ beauty.

"And just where do you think you're going?" She inquired, though she knew he wouldn't respond. He always got like this after following Dr Ziegler, his past-life's girlfriend, around for a few hours.

As she suspected, Jack's hands dove into the pockets of his leather jacket to retrieve a pair of weathered earbuds. Bending, he scooped up his mask and visor. Once installed to his face, he went on his way-hands clenched in his pockets, jaw stiff, and ears flooded with a constant reminder of how he fucked up.

* * *

How long had he been traveling down this barren road? Crossed another state line? Honestly, he wasn't sure. The sun that was once high in the sky was now kissing the lips of the earth. Within the next ten minutes or so, darkness would swallow him whole.

The temperature around him dropped. Continued to drop. If he didn't find shelter soon, the harshness of the desert would chip away at him. It would eat him alive. Freeze him to the very core before spitting him out whole-dehydrated, delusional, broken.

" _Dear god_ ," he sung aloud, " _the only thing I ask of you is to hold her when I'm not around when I'm much too far away. We all need that person who can be true to you, but I left her when I found her and now I wish I'd stayed. Cause I'm lonely and I'm tired. I'm missing you again, oh no, once again..._ "

Heh, _broken_. He was already broken. Thankfully, his stop was just ahead.

It was nothing much. An old hideaway. An old spot he liked to visit. It reminded him of happier days. Of brighter days. Hell, of less lonely days.

As he approached, his mind raced back to a time where they exchanged a few kisses. Whenever they were stationed out this way, they'd slip off into the darkness of the night to get a little bit of _funk_ on in this hidden shack. Sex at an Overwatch base, though not impossible, was never as much fun. It was usually him sneaking into her room and then gently humping her backside as his balls slapped up against her ass. Sure, on occasion she'd sneak from her room and ride him as if they were at a rodeo, but that usually ended with Jack moaning and, well, moaning wasn't exactly quiet. And they had to keep quiet. Keep their blissful love making discrete. It's why he had sheds like these built. Because when they were out here, she could be wild, free. Angela would moan, groan, and scream his name. It made their love just as wild as this western front. Not to mention, Jack absolutely loved the steamy passion she'd present to him. When they were out in these love shacks, she would get her freak on. Sometimes she'd even dress up for him.

Hand sprawling out across the rusted scanner, he forced a smirk when the lock unlatched.

"Welcome back, Jack Morrison."

It was his hidden bungalow. His own private quarters. Now if only she were here too...

Stepping past the month-old coffee that now sprouted what was likely mold, he took a seat in the worn brown leather chair. With the new found weight it took, it creaked and cracked. It was old. Hell, almost as old as he was.

Jack's eyes panned over to the world's smallest bed. Oh the number of times they'd get that thing to squeak and creak. Heh, and that one time they broke it after too much thrusting... If he sniffed the dusty sheets just hard enough, he might pick up the faintest hint of her scent-that sexy perfume she wore _just_ for him. The perfume that drove him wild, feral. And if he dared hold up a black light? That mere thought made him giddy. It would be one hell of a scene. He could recall every time with her. The very way her body would twitch and grind against his. The way she'd pant, cry, and groan. The lust and love in her eyes, on her lips. She was his perfect little devilish angel.

" _Can't help but think of the times I've had with you. Pictures and some memories will have to help me through..._ "

Pulling out an SD Card from the camera apparatus, he slid it into the card reader hooked up to an ancient PC that was somehow still runningWindows 2020. Then again, the tech he was using was that old. He kept that way on purpose too. Sombra wouldn't be able to hack it. Not that Sombra even knew about these basis and, if that was the case, it would be a dead end. This terminal had absolutely nothing on it. It was the memory card that contained the details. Still, Sombra would have little use for photos of Mercy with a busted up GPS tracker. It always read that they were in Iceland for some odd reason. And the date was always at least four months off. It would be hard for anyone to truly crack the corrupted data. Plus, Angela was distracting as hell. There was no way anyone could work with this flawless images Jack capture. He was no professional photographer but Angela was the perfect model. Even rookies could snap a National Geographic-worthy image of her. She made it too easy.

 _If Ana was here..._ He started to play the 'what if' game but quickly dismissed that thought. He knew _exactly_ what she would say. And frankly, he didn't want her advice. As right as she might be, she'd never know what it was like to walk away from someone you loved.

 _Oh wait, she does._ All the more reason to call her out on her bullshit, Jack thought.

With the PC scanning over the files on the memory card, Jack leaned in just a bit closer. After a few more seconds, a popup appeared. "Duh," he said while clicking, 'Open Folder.'

Once in the folder, he clicked on the most recent image he captured.

The delay killed him. It caused him to chew on his nail. Caused him to wonder if perhaps he needed to upgrade to something a little more this century.

Then her picture grew across the screen.

Her hair was up in a loose bun with bits and pieces falling in curls around her soft, peach-colored face. Her blue eyes lost their luster; even years after his death, she still mourned his loss. She hardened her heart and blocked out love, fearful that she'd just lose someone again. Still, she looked lovely as ever. She hadn't aged a day. And her lips were just as full and kissable as they were when he first brushed against them.

Around her neck sat a lovely wool scarf of soft gold. It went well with her gray turtle-neck t-shirt with cinched shoulders. Her long black skirt flowed in the cool autumn breeze as her satin-covered dark beige leggings glistened ever so slightly in the morning rays. And there, around her toes, were creamy white heels. They accented her ankles and legs flawlessly. Made him wet his lips and thirst for a touch.

Reclining into the chair, Jack found his smile.

Yes, it was broken. Yes, it was worn and weathered. Yes, beneath it was the pain of guilt, regret, remorse. But for that fleeting moment that he took in her sight, he could find a moment of peace. Just an ounce of happiness. The strength to get up off his ass and fight another day. He had to, for her.

" _And how I miss someone to hold..."_

Tugging out the earbuds, he cranked up the volume on the iPod that long surpassed its life expectancy. Helped that it only had a handful of songs stored on it. Helped tenfold that Jack really only listened to one of them.

Rising from his chair, he unzipped his blue, white, and red leather jacket. There, folded into one of the hidden pockets was a portrait of her.

"May I have this dance, Miss Ziegler," his voice trembled as he stroked the torn edges of her photograph.

Shifting his voice so it was faint and airy, he responded to himself. "It's Doctor Ziegler," he could remember the way she laughed and blushed. She definitely had a crush on the soldier. On him.

"My apologizes, _Doctor_ Ziegler."

Tears started to fill his dulled blue eyes. His lips twitched before falling into a frown. His heart ached as he continued to thumb her portrait.

Falling back into that ancient chair, Jack ran a hand through his dyed white locks. With each pass, he felt his heart sink.

Perhaps Ana was right. Maybe he needed to stop. Needed to stop stalking her. Watching her. Loving her.

Abruptly, he spun the chair around to do what was necessary.

Hitting the 'Delete' key, he watched as the screen shot up a pop up "Are you sure you want to delete this."

He hovered the cursor over the "Okay" button but just couldn't click it. Instead, he aborted the whole concept.

_No._

No. He couldn't do this. He couldn't delete her. He couldn't erase her from his mind, his life.

"A lonely road, crossed another cold state line. Miles away from those I love, hope is hard to find," the lyrics filtered into his ears.

Brows curving into one another, Jack broke down. His heavy silent sobs destroyed what sanity he had left.

Hope _was_ hard to find.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't keep doing this. Not to himself and certainly not to her.

Diving into his other pocket, he pulled out an old cell phone. Her number was the only one programmed in it. So he clicked on it.

Maybe he'd call her up. Tell her he was okay. Alive. Well. That he missed her. Needed her. But couldn't see her because he couldn't lose her.

"Fuck it," he mused and clicked the dial button. It's not like he had anything to lose, right?

Silence. Silence. Then came the first ring. The second ring. Ring, ring, ring. A click!

He held his breath. Was she answeri-

"Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Angela. I'm not able to answer my, hee hee, stop, Jack, I'm trying to record an away message." The recording suddenly took on his voice. "She's unavailable. Leave your name, number, and purpose of call and I might let her get back to you." Then came her voice. "Jack, give me back my ph-" It was followed by silence. Then two beeps.

Nope! He closed the phone, cutting off the call. There was no way he was going to leave her a message.

Still, it was something. She hadn't changed it. That meant something, right? Meant that she still cared. That he might still have a chance, if he came back to her.

Maybe he needed to try again? Maybe she'd answer if that same unknown number called her twice?

Why not, he figured. So he hit dial again.

Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello?"

Oh shit! She answered.

Fumbling with the phone, he managed to close it before letting out a sigh or sound. Again, his hands ran into his hair. He had one more try. He could do this.

As his thumb hovered over the redial button, he caught the lyrics just one last time.

"Some search, never finding a way. Before long, they waste away. I found you, something told me to stay. I gave in, to selfish ways."

Jack repeated them. "I gave in... to selfish ways." He glanced over at her image. She looked... content. Almost happy. Was it worth... worth reopening wounds? Worth putting her in danger?

The phone in his hands began to ring. It was her. She was returning the call.

Oh how he wanted to answer. But, " _give in to selfish ways_ ," he reminded himself with the song's melody.

Holding the power button, he shut the device off. He couldn't engage her. He couldn't come clean. Not yet. Not now. He had to make sure the world was safe. That she was safe. That Talon nor any of the enemies he created would find her and harm her.

"Maybe some day," he whispered. "But until then..."

Rolling from the chair, he grabbed the iPod. Earbuds back in his ears, he shuffled over to the cot. Flopping down, he shut his eyes.

A single tear managed to sneak past his lids and run down his tired face.

" _Dear god, the only thing I ask of you is to hold her when I'm not around, when I'm much too far away..._ "

**Author's Note:**

> See, I told you it was bad!


End file.
